by Kim Findlay
“There’s a lot of press about this rookie goalie in Victoria. They’re comparing him to the playoff debut of a ‘Mike Reimer,’” Bridget said, looking up from her phone at Mike to see how he’d respond.
Mike was more interested in his food. “Unless both teams make the Finals, we’ll never meet.”
“It would be fun, new Mike Reimer meeting old Mike Reimer,” Bridget responded. She looked around the table, and saw there was no milk for her coffee. The table beside them hadn’t been cleared, and she jumped up to steal the milk remaining there.
That was when the interruption sauntered up.
Bridget’s first thought when she saw the woman was to wonder how early someone had to get up to look like that. She was wearing a low-cut top and a tight short skirt, and she had the body to make that work. She had blond hair, impeccable makeup and six-inch heels. Bridget was in a T-shirt and yoga pants, with runners on. No makeup, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d checked her hair.
The woman had looked around, spotted Mike, and homed in on him like a laser. Bridget sat back down in the seat beside Mike, instead of across from him.
“Mike Reimer,” the woman said in a throaty voice. “I’m your biggest fan.”
Maybe if you went by cup size, thought Bridget sourly.
“You’ve been...incredible.”
Bridget waved her hand to see if this woman even knew she was there. Mike had no expression on his face.
“I’d do anything, anything, to help you and the team.” She leaned toward Mike as she said this, giving him a good look at her assets, if he wished. There was no room to doubt what “anything” she was ready, willing and able to do. And Bridget was sitting right there!
Without giving Mike time to respond, Bridget grabbed his arm and snuggled against him, saying, “Sugar bear, we wanted someone to clean your car—it needs a good detailing. And then there’s carrying my bags, it’s really a pain. And didn’t Darren say he needed some babysitting? I was going to help out, but if this nice lady will help...” She looked up at the woman and smiled a big insincere smile. “Then I could have more time with my little love nugget.”
The woman gave Bridget the look she’d give a slug trailing slime on her favorite bag. She glanced back at Mike, but he was looking at Bridget.
“Uh, no. I don’t do that,” she said, and walked away.
Bridget dropped Mike’s arm. She waited for his response. Had she been out of line?
Suddenly his arm was around her, and his lips were by her ear. “Little love nugget?”
Bridget looked up to see him laughing. “I could have come up with something much worse.”
Mike laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you could...”
* * *
BRIDGET WAS NERVOUS the next morning. Jack had welcomed her back as if she’d never missed a practice, and she always enjoyed skating on the freshly cleaned rink surface. She’d long ago realized that she would only score on Mike if he made a mistake, and those were rare. So this was just for fun, a unique opportunity. But then the rest of the team started to arrive—surely way earlier than usual?—and she realized she was supposed to do something to knock down one of these players so they’d play better in the game. With the men just coming on the ice, she wasn’t even sure who was playing tonight; there would be a couple of guys sitting out. She skated toward the line of players and the bench, where she could leave. They seemed willing to get in her way, but she swerved around them. What was she supposed to do, chase them around the rink? She turned back and found a bunch of the team on her heels.
She waved her hands at them, wanting space. Three guys fell over. One who didn’t started to protest that at least one skater had fallen on purpose. Bridget shrugged. “You’ll see tonight who really fell.” She then turned and left the ice.
This time she sat near the bench instead of avoiding the coach. After the players left the ice, she approached him. He greeted her with a small smile.
“I hope this isn’t a problem,” she began.
“The good luck routine out there?”
Bridget nodded. “I know I don’t have any special power, but I thought it shouldn’t hurt, and might help.”
The coach nodded. “You ‘helped’ our defense this morning.”
Bridget looked at him. “Maybe I should ‘help’ some forwards next time?”
The coach looked over the ice. “Might be a good idea.”
“Let me know if there’s anyone in particular. I have no idea how to keep this up.”
The coach gave her a genuine smile. “I’ll let you know if there’s anyone I think needs special ‘help.’”
“Thanks,” said Bridget, fervently. “Is this what they need the most? A confidence boost?”
“On or off the record?”
“Off,” said Bridget. “I’m sorry if I sound nosey. I’m just a fan, and I’d like to help if I could.”
“Off the record, they’re not a cohesive unit.”
Bridget nodded slowly. “That’s what Mike says. He says they won’t trust him till he can win against Quebec, and he can’t win against Quebec unless they’re trusting him and working as a team.
“I know Mike has been spending all his free time with me, but I don’t know if he’s being considerate for my sake, or if he’d be on his own otherwise, and that’s why he wanted me to come along. I hardly ever see the rest of the team.”
“It’s hard to build that team identity if they don’t spend time together—preferably when they aren’t under game pressure,” the coach agreed.
Bridget grinned. “I’d invite them to my mom’s for dinner if we were in Toronto. Then my dad could give them a stern talking to. I have older brothers, so he’s had a lot of practice.”
The coach nodded, as if she’d made a serious suggestion.
“That’s a thought. Not your mother.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to her. But, the rest of the team usually meet up after a game for dinner.”
Bridget was taken aback. “Oh. Not at the hotel, obviously.”
“No. I believe tonight they have a reservation at a place called Vincenzo’s. There’s bad weather in Toronto, so we’re not flying back until tomorrow morning. There should be room for a couple extra.”
Bridget opened her mouth to ask if he was really suggesting she and Mike crash the dinner but he had left. She thought back over the conversation. She didn’t see Mike pushing himself in where he wasn’t wanted. If she did follow that suggestion? If she did, and it backfired, Mike could be justifiably upset with her. But it wouldn’t backfire on the coach, and long-term, that was more important.
The defense played very well that night, but the offence was shut down, and Toronto lost, 1–0.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MIKE MET BRIDGET after the game. After enduring some taunts from lingering Philly fans, Bridget said, “Let’s go somewhere other than the hotel. You know we’ll just get interrupted there.”
Mike looked down at her. His brows creased. “I’m sorry. You must get tired of that.”
Bridget felt a stab of guilt. She wrapped an arm around him. “Just not spending enough time with you, but I know that’s part of the deal.”
“Okay, you pick a place. And we’ll hope it’s not full of hockey fans.”
“I heard about a place called Vincenzo’s. Does that sound okay?”
“Sure.”
Bridget was nervous. Mike might be angry with her, and justifiably so. The team was his. She was just a girlfriend. But she was a fan of the Blaze, and she wanted them to do well, and she knew Mike really needed a team that was with him. So, since she had the coach’s blessing, she’d give it a try.
Vincenzo’s was a small steakhouse.
The tables in the place had been grouped into one long row for the only party being hosted that night: the Blaze team.
Mike stiffened beside her. The people at the table turned and stared as if caught skipping practice. They were all guys, and as many were staring at her as were staring at Mike. No one moved. Bridget sighed. Men!
She stalked over to the end of the table and scowled at them. “I get enough of this macho crap with the guys on my beer league team, so let’s just clear the air. Yes, I have breasts, and no, I’m not sleeping with any of you. Now can we move on? What’s good here?”
As an icebreaker, it sure got attention. After a short pause there was laughter, and a few “Ooh, burn, Reimer” comments. Space was made for them, and a couple of beers appeared.
Bridget had Mike on one side and a veteran defenseman on the other. The defenseman was one of the top four, not one who’d fallen over on the ice that morning. He played solid hockey and didn’t get a lot of press. “Ribs are good,” he said. “But stay away from the pepper steak.”
“Thanks for the tip. And that was a nice check on number eight in the second. I think his ears are still ringing.”
That was enough to start a conversation. Not everyone appreciated the plays away from the puck that could change the momentum of a game. Bridget watched defensemen more than most because that was the position she played. So she was soon chatting away with him, and some of the other guys joined in. They’d known her only as Mike’s girlfriend, the girl who knocked people over and didn’t like to be told she couldn’t drive. Now they were finding she had a good grasp of the game and was willing to back her opinions when challenged.
On her other side, Bridget could hear Mike talking over the game with some of the other guys. Her mood lifted a bit. Hopefully, this wasn’t a disaster, and maybe it would help the team, and therefore help Mike. Of course, the guys might ban her after this, or Mike might throttle her, but, nothing ventured...
After the meal was cleared, the chance of playing against Quebec came up in conversation. Quebec had just clinched, so the winner of this Toronto–Philadelphia series would be playing them next. There was a pause, as memories of last year’s sweep surfaced in everyone’s minds.
Mike leaned forward on his elbows. All eyes went to him.
“I know you’re wondering about me.” The entire table was quiet, listening.
“Last year in Quebec, something was wrong with my game. It wasn’t anything I’d dealt with before. I went to the coaches and talked to them about it. The next day management asked me to waive my no-trade clause.”
Mutters around the table. Bridget froze. Was he following her suggestion?
“I have a reputation for keeping my temper. But, believe me, I can get angry. I didn’t even ask where they wanted me to go. I signed the papers and walked out. You got damaged goods. I played like crap. I wasn’t sure if I would ever play properly again. Maybe I should have retired, but I wasn’t ready to give up on hockey yet.”
The silence continued. Bridget thought the other players could relate.
“I’ve recovered. And there’s nothing more I want than to win these next two games, and give back to Quebec City exactly what they gave to me. A kick to the—” Mike paused.
“Balls,” finished Bridget.
The guys laughed.
“If we play them,” Mike said, deliberately, “I’ll be getting a few penalties...unless you guys can screen the linesmen.”
“That won’t help us much,” said a voice from down the table. Bridget suspected that was Troy.
“The way I see it, the first period, they’ll be playing like it’s last year again. They’re going to chirp, they’re going to think they can waltz in and score at will. Then, when they realize that that’s not working, they’ll be looking for a weak spot. They’ll be crowding my crease, figuring they can get to me. I think a few guys might have to lose their balance there to remind them of their manners.”
Darren, the team captain, looked at him. “Manners are good.”
“By the end of the first game they should be remembering much better. Especially when they go down a game.”
“Are you promising?”
“You give me two goals, and I’ll do the rest. There’s some payback due.”
The defenseman beside Bridget leaned over her. “You haven’t played them in a year. They’ve changed some since then.”
“And they haven’t played me. They think that was because I was afraid. I’m not. We can use that to our advantage. They remember the guy they faced a year ago. That’s not who they’re facing this year.”
“No?”
Mike reached under the table and squeezed Bridget’s hand. Not in warning, this time. “No.”
“Make sure Bridget knocks you down then,” said Troy.
That got some laughs. Conversation became general again, mostly about how to play Quebec, and Mike’s opinion was asked for often. Bridget was happy to sink into the background. None of these guys wanted her coaching, and she wasn’t vain enough to think she could offer any. If they were talking, more than they had been, it could only help them as a team. Maybe this was way too simple, but she thought it was logical. She thought that was what the coach had been intending. She hoped she’d read it right.
Mike was among the first to leave, and Bridget followed with uncharacteristic meekness. She suspected he’d have a few things to say on the cab ride back. She was right.
They settled in the back seat of the cab, a space between them. Bridget wondered if that was on purpose, and just how much damage she might have done to their relationship.
“You blindsided me.”
“Yep,” Bridget admitted.
“I was furious when we stepped in the door.”
“I expected that.”
“You were about as subtle as a wrecking ball.”
“Yeah, well, I know all about testosterone face-offs.”
Mike grunted. There was silence. Bridget waited to assess his mood. When she was mad, she blazed out. Mike’s anger was quiet, and Bridget wasn’t sure just how angry he might be.
“So you have breasts?” he finally asked.
Bridget blushed. “I guess that’s a little blunt. But I’ve had to do that routine with guys before who really have a mental block about women. It kinda slipped out before I realized just what I was saying.”
“I think I saw every jaw drop. On the other hand, it was very effective. So how did you come up with this dinner idea?”
“It was really the coach.”
Mike paused. “He asked you to do this?”
Bridget tilted her head. “I think so. We were talking about the team after practice, and he thinks, off the record, that the team isn’t pulling together, and I made an offhand comment, and he ended up telling me where they were going to be tonight. And honestly, I was getting tired of the hotel.”
“You didn’t do much for my reputation.”
“What?” said Bridget, puzzled.
“‘I’m not sleeping with anyone here?’”
Bridget sighed. “I didn’t even think of that.”
“You certainly do the unexpected. Come over here. I should probably be mad at you.”
Bridget happily snuggled up against him, relieved he wasn’t too angry with her.
“I thought you might be.”
“But you went ahead anyway?”
“I couldn’t just watch the team go off the rails. And I want you to get your chance at payback with Quebec.”
“You think you’re ready to take on Quebec? Any secret plans for there?”
Bridget craned her neck to look up at him. “Do you still want me to come?”
“It won’t be easy for you, especially if you’re going to sit there in one of my jerseys. There’s not a lot of love lost. I didn’t give any interviews when I left, so a lot of fans think I’m a traitor.”
“Hey, I grew up with five brothers. I can handle myself. If it helps, I�
��ll be there.”
“Try not to get into a fistfight, okay? And yes, I want you there. Definitely.” And for the remainder of the cab ride, Mike convinced her that yes, he really did want her around.
The team flew back to Toronto early in the morning. Bridget again was too late for that day’s practice, but the following day, game day practice, she was on the ice. The coach hadn’t mentioned the dinner, but he welcomed her more warmly than he had previously. He gave her a player’s name, and on her way off the ice, she managed to turn back for a call “she thought she’d heard,” and ran into the player while he was skating backward. He didn’t fight too hard for his balance, and went down—and then played well that night. Mike did his part, and the Blaze won. It was going to a game seven, where anything could happen.
The other Toronto hockey team had once been in a game seven, up by three with less than five minutes to play—and lost. So Toronto was in a frenzy, even though the game was in Philadelphia. Philly fans were not much better. Bridget could almost feel the pressure in the air.
Players were heading onto the practice ice earlier, hoping to get knocked over by Bridget. She still thought it was silly, but she did her part. This time her stick tangled in the blade of the selected player, and she was done.
Bridget didn’t know what was said in the locker room before the game, but the Blaze came out hard. Philly couldn’t match their determination. The team was up by only two as the third period wound down, but Mike was a rock and the score stood. The Philly fans booed and threw whatever was handy on the ice, but the Blaze fans present were going crazy. Since Bridget was wearing Mike’s jersey, she was swept into the celebration.
She was able to meet the players as they were loading the bus. Mike grabbed her, spun her around and kissed her on the lips. Bridget heard the team cheering as he put her down. Of course, they’d cheer anything that night.
* * *
THERE WERE ONLY three days between series. Bridget still came to practices, but team events were taking more of Mike’s time off the ice.